He didn’t miss that. Not really. He was devoted to Shane, wholeheartedly, and their sex life was beyond anything he had experienced with another person. But he missed being touched. He missed the endorphin rush he used to get from hooking up with people, and how relaxed he’d felt after. He missed meeting new people, talking to them, charming them.
Most of all, though, he missed the comfort he got from human touch. Right now, in this club in Montreal, he wanted that comfort from the man he was in love with.
He took another step toward Shane, closing the slim gap between them again. This time he trailed a fingertip down Shane’s arm from his elbow to his wrist. Shane flinched, and stared at him with wide, questioning eyes.
“What?” he asked.
Kiss me, Ilya wanted to say. Kiss me and hold me in front of all these people. Pull me onstage and do it. I don’t care anymore. Please. I’m dying.
“Nothing,” Ilya said, and stepped away. “Nothing.”
Shane was so turned on he felt like he would burst into flames.
The sensuality of Fabian’s performance—his whole deal—combined with having Ilya so close had created electricity that coursed through Shane’s body. He wished he could grab Ilya and pull him closer, kiss him against the back wall of the club until they were both panting. But he didn’t mind waiting. The forbidden aspect of their relationship—the discipline it took to hide how hot they were for each other—still did it for Shane. It was sexy.
Here, in public, Shane didn’t mind pretending that they were two bros, hanging out with their retired NHL player friend. He didn’t mind keeping his hands to himself, because he knew as soon as they were alone they would thoroughly take each other apart and it would be perfect. Their reward for a job well done. Shane thrived on that sort of thing.
But, fuck, Ilya looked hot tonight. That tight pink T-shirt was just barely holding itself together, stretched tight across Ilya’s muscular chest and shoulders. That fucking loon tattoo staring Shane in the face, practically a brand on Ilya’s skin.
Mine, Shane thought. The world doesn’t need to know, because I know.
He wondered if Ilya was as horny as he was at that moment. He kept glancing at Shane sideways, so probably. Also, it had been nearly a week since they’d last been able to have sex, and if the drought was affecting Shane this much, it must actually be killing Ilya.
Shane remembered the last time they’d been in any kind of club together. It had been years ago, before they’d admitted their feelings for each other. Shane had been with Rose at the time, had been out with her and her friends that night, and Ilya had happened to be at the same Montreal nightclub with some of his teammates. Shane had abandoned Rose on the dance floor, drawn to Ilya like a moth to a flame, and had helplessly watched Ilya make out with a beautiful woman.
There’d been a brief, terrifying moment when his and Ilya’s eyes had met. When Ilya had discovered him. Then Shane had fled, embarrassed that he’d been caught watching, and horrified by how jealous he’d felt.
He’d needed to pull over while driving home that night because he hadn’t been able to see the road through his tears. He’d been so confused and scared and devastated. He should have been going home with Rose, his gorgeous movie star girlfriend, not crying on the side of the road, alone in his car, over an obnoxious Russian hockey player.
He’d been in love with him, though he’d refused to even consider it at the time.
Now, he felt the light brush of a fingertip at his elbow, and tensed as the finger trailed down to his wrist. Ilya shouldn’t be touching him like this.
“What?” Shane asked, because there had to be a reason why Ilya would break their most important rule.
For the briefest moment, Ilya’s eyes looked sad, and even a bit scared. Then he blinked, and schooled his expression into something more neutral.
“Nothing,” Ilya said as he stepped away. “Nothing.”
Ilya turned his gaze back to the stage, but Shane kept watching Ilya. His shoulders were slumped, and his jaw was tense. He looked…defeated.
Shane glanced around. The room was dark. It was crowded, but everyone’s attention was locked on Fabian, and he and Ilya were at the very back anyway. Shane chewed his lip, and made a quick decision before he started overthinking things.
He took a sideways step so his hip brushed against Ilya’s, then placed a hand on the small of his back. It wasn’t much, but Ilya’s whole body relaxed as he leaned back into the touch. He glanced down at Shane and gave him a small, grateful smile.
Shane smiled back, and traced a little heart on Ilya’s back with his finger. Ilya raised one hand toward Shane, and it hovered in the air for a moment before Ilya pulled it back to rest over his own heart. He nodded at Shane, then turned his gaze back to the stage.
Shane kept his hand on Ilya’s back for the rest of the show, removing it only briefly to applaud after each song. He felt like he was getting away with something, the way his palm pressed into the heat of Ilya’s sweat-soaked back. The way each of Ilya’s silent breaths felt loud against Shane’s fingers.
The song Fabian was performing had sex-drenched, murmured lyrics and sudden, unexpected acapella breaks where he would sigh out lyrics that sent actual shivers through Shane. Everything felt and sounded and smelled like the promise of sex, and Shane was losing his mind a little. How was Ryan not rushing the stage right now? Shane almost wanted to, but not as much as he wanted to grab Ilya’s sweaty T-shirt and pull him into him. Shane wasn’t the kind of guy who would ever fuck someone in a public place, but this was the most he’d thought about it.
Maybe ending a week of celibacy with a concert by Ryan’s sex sorcerer boyfriend hadn’t been the best idea. Shane hoped no one noticed as he carefully adjusted his erection so it wouldn’t be quite so obvious against the tight fabric of his pants.
Ilya, of course, noticed. His smile sent a fresh shiver through Shane, and he bit his bottom lip, gaze locked with Ilya’s.
Soon, Ilya mouthed.
Shane was far too distracted to be driving right now. He was so horny he felt drunk.
He’d insisted on driving tonight, because he’d had enough of putting his life in Ilya’s hands, but now he doubted his decision. His body pulsed with the need to press his skin against Ilya’s. To taste him and take him apart and show him everything he’d been thinking while Ilya had been standing so close to him in that stupidly tight T-shirt, his skin hot and glistening with sweat.
Also, Ilya was massaging Shane’s dick through his pants as he drove.
“D-don’t,” Shane said weakly. “It’s not—fuck—not safe.”
Ilya chuckled and removed his hand. Shane bit back a whimper from the loss. He took a slow breath, steadying himself, and focused on the road.
“You’re so hard,” Ilya observed.
“I’m also driving.”
“I’m not.”
Shane glanced over and saw that Ilya had cupped his own dick through his shorts.
“Don’t do that either,” Shane said, forcing himself to look away.
A soft moan floated over from the passenger seat. Ilya’s eyes were closed, head tipped back, lips parted.
Fuck. Shane was ignoring the road again.